


The High Roller

by Birdschach



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Original work - Freeform, Superheroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 10:38:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5494187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Birdschach/pseuds/Birdschach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A down-on-his-luck gambler goes for one last desperate bet, and discovers a power within him</p>
            </blockquote>





	The High Roller

"Come on, Frank, you know I'm good for it! I just need one good streak and I'll be back on top!" Scott Townes pleaded with Frank Burns, the city's premier loan shark. They both sat in a decadent office, which made it obvious how much money the wolfish loan shark worked with. Scott had heard more than once that Frank owned at least half the city, and really, that wouldn't surprise him.

"Look, Scotty. You're into me for a pretty massive amount already. I don't doubt that one good streak would turn that around, but you're not this hot shot, high roller gambler you think you are." Frank said, coldly. "And here you are again, asking me to give you even more money? Why the hell would I do that, pal?"

Scott took a sudden interest in his clothing, as if he just noticed how disheveled his three-piece suit had become. In reality, looking down was much easier than meeting the fierce green of Frank's accusatory stare.

"Answer me or get the fuck out, Scott."

"I've got a really good feeling today, okay? things will be different. I can tell." Scott said, despite all that he had lost, he still held a strange pride in his "feelings" for how things would go. He had been wrong before, but it had never been as absolute as today. He knew if he could just get the money, everything would be fine.

"Geez, I must have finally lost my mind. Fine. I'll give you another 5 grand. Sometimes your feelings turn out right. But I swear, Scott. If you don't have that and more back to me by the end of week, you're finished." Frank said, opening his coat just enough to show the .357 Magnum he always kept close at hand.

"But...I owe you so much, why would you kill me?" Scott asked, knowing a threat from Frank Burns was nothing to scoff at.

Frank sighed. "Yeah, you do. And at a certain point, blowing a hole through your pathetic, whining face would feel a hell of a lot better than any money you'd give me. Now get the fuck out of here." He slid an envelope across the desk, and tipped his hat in dismissal, before returning to the orders he had been writing out. 

Scott rose to his feet, trying to control his trembling knees. He picked up the envelope, and felt the familiar weight of tightly wrapped bills. A weight that went much deeper than most people would ever feel. The weight of a last resort. 

As he turned to leave, pausing for a moment at the office's threshold, Frank said "End of the week, Scotty." Without so much as looking up.

~X~

Scott had gotten himself cleaned up, and shaved the stubble he'd let build up over the past week. He always liked to look the part when he went to the casino, even if everyone knew by now what a disappointment he was. He always started out so great, winning a couple of bets and coming out on top. But some part of him could never quit.

The owners loved him, the workers and other gamblers pitied him. He was just another poor sap, taken in by the allure of a big win, by the hope for a better life. At first, his feelings had helped him immensely. He always seemed to know which days would go well and which wouldn't. 

But even his strange clairvoyance couldn't keep him from coming back when he was desperate, drunk, or often both. Before too long, every cent he owned had been lost. Then $50,000 of Frank's money, over a very brief time. Now it was $55,000, and Scott had to make his luck turn around. 

~X~

Scott had divided the money into 5 parts, so he could get a feel for slots, blackjack, craps, baccarat, and finally roulette. So far, he had burned through the allotted amount for every game except roulette. Each time, he would have a brief run of good luck, that would quickly turn sour.

Roulette hadn't even started off kind. He had already lost all but one bee's worth. Desperately holding the money for his final bet of the day, and perhaps his life, he considered his options. He could place his last bet. Go for a single number and hope for a big payoff, or for a color and small gains. Or he could try to skip town.

The very thought brought up the image of a polished Magnum, maintained to perfection. Nobody got away from Frank. The man was tenacious to a fault, and that option simply didn't exist. But what else was there? It seemed like this really was the end of the road for him.

Just as he was about to place a random bet, and be done with it, he felt a strange energy course through him. It was similar to one of his "feelings", but so much more powerful. And it wasn't fading. He placed his bet, with a confidence he had never known before.

He won.

And he kept winning.

~X~

No matter what game he tried, what amount he bet, he won. Scott was on top of the world. It took a long time for the casino's owner to take any sort of action. Scott had always been such a loser. He'd lose eventually, wouldn't he? Then he'd keep going, and the casino would get it all back? Right?

$500,000 later, casino security was escorting him out. Ordinarily, Scott would be offended, even angry, but he knew he had enough. He could pay Frank back, get out of the city, and restart. Leave gambling behind forever, and get on with his life. Or...stick around. After all, his luck might just hold.

~X~

"Oh, of course I'm glad you're paying me back, Scotty. I was prepared to take a big loss from you, you know." Frank said, casually toying with that massive handgun. They were seated in Frank's office once more, though Scott had since improved his wardobe, gotten cleaned up, and seemed much healthier and more confident.

"I know. And I'm sorry about that, man. I knew sooner or later my luck had to turn around, though. Just. Thanks for giving me that last chance. Guess I'm a high roller after all!" Scott said, beaming. His life had finally turned around.

Suddenly, Frank was on his feet. Scott was staring into the infinite black of that fearsome magnum's barrel as he rose, and backed up slowly. 

"Don't you know by now, Scotty? I don't give anything." Frank said, "This little change in your luck? It stops now. Because, see, I got my money back from you, and more. But you've still got plenty left to take. And you still annoy the fuck out of me."

He pulled the trigger.

~X~

And for several seconds that felt like an eternity, they stood, facing each other down. Then the faulty round exploded in the chamber, setting off the other 5 rounds as well. The deafening report was followed by Frank collapsing. Scott cautiously crept around the desk, wanting to see the damage. He wasn't disappointed.

Frank's right hand was mangled by the blast, a bloody mess of bones and tendons were the only thing left from the explosion. And his hand wasn't the only casualty, a piece of shrapnel must have hit Frank's face, as a bleeding gouge now dominated the right half of his face, running from chin to forehead. As he was transfixed in horror, Frank groaned, and his legs began to move, scraping for traction. Scott whirled around, throwing the office door open and barreling down those familiar steps. 

"Ha, yeah, sounds like we've heard the last of ol' Scott." One of Frank's goons said, laughing heartily.

"I just can't believe he raked in so much, then actually paid the boss. Christ, what a dumbass. Shoulda known Frank would just kill him anyway." Another goon responded. It seemed Scott would face some more opposition before he got out of here.

"YOU BASTARD!" Frank shouted from his office, coming to remarkably quickly. "HOW THE HELL DID YOU DO THAT!? MY FUCKING HAND, MY FUCKING FACE!" 

As the goons scrambled to their feet, trying to find out what was happening, they tripped over the table, and each other before both falling flat on their faces. One of their guns clattered to the floor, coming to a stop at Scott's feet.

He scooped it up, and ran. He really couldn't believe his luck. Though he'd need a hell of a lot more of it if Frank made it through his injuries. Maybe if his money was where he'd left it, and he could get out of town fast enough, he'd be the first to escape Frank. Maybe.

~X~

Weeks later, Scott had moved. He lived freely off the money he had won, and even after it ran out it seemed his luck would never end. Any time he needed more money, he'd pull an odd job, knock over a bank, or a store. He'd don an old checked suit, a fedora, and a ski mask, calling himself the High Roller. And every time it all went his way. 

He'd get away, identity intact and richer than he was before. Registers would pop open for him, doors would be left unlocked, witnesses would forget, and police would stumble over themselves, amd miss every shot they made. He became a menace, as legendary as the heroes of Aegis, though none yet had seen fit to challenge someone who committed only petty crimes. 

One day, however, things were different. Scott had nearly finished a heist, once again subduing the hostages, emptying the bank's vault, and was preparing his escape. He was absolutely confident the police would lose him yet again. But then a familiar voice called out.  
"Scotty, Scotty, Scotty." Frank Burns said, as he walked in, using some back entrance Scott had overlooked. "You know I always get my man. Always. And you have a hell of a lot more to give me than anyone else ever has." Frank finished, stepping into the light. 

The damage his beloved gun had wrought was extensive. The blast had taken his right hand, as Scott suspected it would. But instead of a stump, it ended in a wicked serrated blade attached to a sort of harness. Curiously, a tube seemed to run parallel to each side of the blade, starting at the fuel tanks on his back and ending at his arm.

Not only did Frank lose his hand, the shrapnel slashed the right side of his face. He had been slighted before, but the circumstances had never been so very strange. So unfair. 

"You're an abomination, Scott. We both know you got lucky back there, and you've been lucky since. Every time I'd try to find you, you'd slip away at the last second." here, Frank smirked. "But eventually, no amount of luck can help. Eventually, determination and skill win out."

"Come on, Frank, I'm sorry. I wasn't the one who pulled the trigger. If you hadn't tried to double cross me, this never would have happened." Scott said, a bit shaken up by Frank's words. Abomination? No, he hadn't done this. It was just fate. If anything, Frank was an abomination! The man had been thwarted once, the first time in his life, and he loses his mind on some quest for vengeance? Why couldn't he just move on? 

"Nobody, and I mean nobody, gets away from Frank Burns, Scott. You knew that, and you still know it." Frank gestured around the bank's lobby, terrifying the already confused hostages with the amount of weaponry he was packing. "You think your luck is going to last? I spent all I had buying this gear, pal. Steel-Clad tech. I don't really give a shit how it works, but Mr. Steel himself assured me, luck won't matter to someone on the receiving end of any of these babies." 

Frank laughed, a deranged and broken laugh, as he pointed the contraption on his right arm at Scott. Scott could see thete was a nozzle at each side of the blade, with a small flame flickering at each tip. 

"You really think a flamethrower will work?" Scott scoffed, trying to keep his cool. Steel-Clad weapons were supposed to be the best, though many still doubted the relatively new company. Just in case, he began maneuvering towards his planned escape route. 

Frank knew exactly what Scott was planning, and opened fire. Two massive jets of flame arced out, and Scott was able to just barely jump out of the way. It certainly seemed like his luck wasn't going to save him here.

"Not so fast, Scott. We have a lot of catching up to do. A debt to absolve. There's no way out of here, at least, not for you." Frank said, lining up another shot. Scott, in his blind bid for safety, had jumped into a corner of the lobby, and saw that there truly was no escape. 

"Come on, Frank. Can't...can't we talk this out? I mean, I could work with you or something...I'd be a great asset!" Scott pleaded desperately. Things were finally going his way, he didn't want them to end here. Frank simply smiled a manic smile, the smile of a man who had given up everything for the sheer pleasure of killing him. And Scott knew nothing he said mattered. 

Just when he was reaching absolute hopelessness, a hand gripped Frank's shoulder like a vice, and yanked him into an about face. 

"This has gone on long enough. As both of you are clearly enhanced, the police have requested my presence in dealing with you. I want you both to raise your hands and stand against the wall." Flagship said. The hero was new to the scene, but was quickly gaining popularity in the city. Word on the street was that he was incredibly strong, and utterly indestructible, and his flashy uniform/costume was intimidating. But even that reputation couldn't slow Frank down.

"Get your filthy hand off me, 'hero'. You think your comic book heroics intimidate me? Ha!" Frank sucker punched the hero as he laughed, hoping to gain the upper hand. Though a sucker punch from Frank now came with a lot more, as the blade stabbed into Flagship's chest, and Frank opened up both nozzles of the flamethrower, a blast that should have vaporized anything it hit.

Revelling in his victory, Frank was confused when he felt two hands close around the harness on the remains of his wrist, and rip his wicked contraption away. While the costume on Flagship's chest was utterly demolished, hanging in still burning tatters, the man seemed undamaged. He smiled. 

"If that's how you want to do things, that's fine." he said, and threw a punch that slammed Frank up against the wall like a rag doll. But Frank never did know when to give up. As he rose to his feet, taking another weapon out of his jacket, Scott decided it was high time he made his exit. Luckily, his escape route had remained clear, and the High Roller escaped to live another day, hopefully a day with Frank Burns behind bars.


End file.
